


Alone is what I know

by thevernacularium



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Canon Compliant, Smut, Soft Arthur Morgan, arthur morgan is a consent king, i have side quest fever and there ain't no cure, no beta we die like cowboys, playing fast and loose with canon, this damsel isn't in distress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27951542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevernacularium/pseuds/thevernacularium
Summary: “I take it you’re acquainted with this feller.” The voice was a woman’s. Arthur made to stand. “Ah ah, not so fast Mister. I like you just where you are for now. If you’d be so kind as to holster your weapon and put your hands up, we’d have a much better chance of getting along.”“Never could refuse a woman with a gun to my head.” Arthur grunted. He slowly slide his revolver back into its holster and brought his hands up over his head.~~~~~~Arthur meets a woman while rescuing an injured John from the mountain.In fact, he can't seem to stop meeting her.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/Original Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), John Marston & Arthur Morgan, John Marston & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 68





	1. Colter

**Author's Note:**

> rated explicit for future chapters. Updates will be very sporadic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur tracks John down following the events in Blackwater.

He saw the light from the fire from far off. It looked like a cave about halfway up the mountain, a thin line of smoke visible as it trailed into the night air. It had to be John… who else was crazy enough to be out in the mountains in this storm. The gale had been howling for days. The gang had managed to hole up in an abandoned mining town, but on Abigail’s behest, Arthur had left the relative warmth and safety of the cabins and headed back into the wilderness to search for John. “Damn fool better not be dead yet.” He grumbled, as much to his horse as to himself. “Coulda been warm and fed, instead I’m out lookin’ for his sorry ass.”

Arthur picked his way up the trail until it became too narrow for the horse to walk easily … he hadn’t named the animal yet. Wasn’t ready yet. It was still too soon after losing Boadecia. Hitching the horse to the branch of a ghostly pine he patted her neck to calm her. The wind of the storm had riled her some. “Shh shh shh, you’re alright girl.” he murmured to the mare. “I won’t be long. Just gotta go find our idiot and then we’ll get off this mountain.” She snorted quietly and nosed into him affectionately. 

Arthur turned towards the faint light coming from the cave, now clearly visible in the growing dark. He had his repeater slung over his shoulder, and his hand hovered near his revolver in its holster. 

He walked slowly, trying to keep his steps quiet. His boots crunched softly on the wind blown snow covering the ground. He crouched low at the mouth of the cave and drew his revolver slowly. There was no sound coming from the cave, save the occasional pop from the firewood. Slowly, he peered around the corner, bringing the small fire into view. The cave was large enough for a man to stand in easily, and deep enough to keep out the snow blowing around the entrance. There was a small flame in the fire ring, a coffee percolator on the ground, and a bed roll laid out. Propped against the far wall, but still close to the fire, was John Marston. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was slightly open, but Arthur could see the slow rise and fall of his chest. There was a thick bandage wound around his head, which had been soaked through with blood. 

Arthur’s gaze darted around the cave, looking for signs of another person. There was an unfamiliar shot gun in the corner, a stack of blankets, a canvas sheet shielding the bed roll from the cave mouth, and a large, worn rucksack. John had nothing but his guns with him when he fled Blackwater. His eyes fell on what he knew to be John’s gun, a well maintained lancaster repeater, propped neatly in a corner. He was about to take a step into the cave when he heard the sharp click of a hammer being engaged on a 6 shooter. Right in his ear. He let out a sigh as he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressing against the back of his neck. 

“I take it you’re acquainted with this feller.” The voice was a woman’s. Arthur made to stand. “Ah ah, not so fast Mister. I like you just where you are for now. If you’d be so kind as to holster your weapon and put your hands up, we’d have a much better chance of getting along.”

“Never could refuse a woman with a gun to my head.” Arthur grunted. He slowly slide his revolver back into its holster and brought his hands up over his head. 

“Much obliged.” The woman removed the barrel of the gun from Arthur’s neck but kept it aimed at his head as she stepped around to face him. 

She was slender, and half a head shorter than Arthur. Despite her small stature, there was something intimidating about her. Her posture was strong and upright, and the firelight flickering across her face gave her a ghostly seriousness. She was dressed for warmth, heavy woollen trousers cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt, a long thick canvas jacket lined with shearling not unlike Arthur’s own winter jacket, a knit scarf around her neck, and a wide brimmed boiled wool tracker hat. Her hair was tied in two neat braids framing her slim face. Her eyes were narrowed, and Arthur could just make out a dusting of freckles across her nose. She held the six shooter steady in gloved hands. 

“Never had this many gentleman callers in my whole damn life. If she’d'a known about all you, I wager Mama woulda sent me out into these mountains herself.”

A stiff gust of wind blew in through the mouth of the cave. Her arm didn’t waver under the weight of the extended gun. Arthur’s gaze flicked from his host, to John, and back again. 

Arthur chuckled “Can’t say that me or my friend over there have ever been confused for gentlemen before.” 

“Alright, well, gentleman or not, you keep those hands up. Come sit by the fire, I’d rather get outta that devil’s wind.” She gustered into the cave with her free hand, her narrow gaze never leaving his face. 

He sighed again “Well since you asked so politely…” She kept the gun trained on him while he walked slowly to the fire, hands still raised. He sat down on a stump. She reached across him to relieve him of his revolver and he caught the sudden smell of mountain thyme, mixed with mint. He grumbled as she retreated with his weapon in her hand. “Hey now friend,” She scolded him “You came into my house with guns drawn. Forgive me if I don’t want you to draw them again.” He shrugged and surrendered his repeater as well. “Suppose that’s fair.” he sighed. Both guns were stashed with John’s repeater and she returned to the fireside, gun still trained on him.

“Well then.” She started, “Now that the unpleasantness is taken care of, you can start by introducing yourself.”

“C’mon Lady, If you’re gonna shoot me, just shoot me.”

“See, If I shoot you, I’ll be livin with a corpse in here, and I’ll have no one to take this other feller off my hands. You know how much work it’d be to drag your carcase far enough away from here so as not to attract wolves. Much rather settle this like civilized folk, just don’t want you to get any bright ideas about tryin’ to kill me while we’re having this conversation.”

Arthur smiled a little at that “Fair enough Ma’am. Lotta snow out there to be haulin’ corpses around. Name’s Callahan. Arthur Callahan.”

“Ok then Mr… _Callahan_ … Who’s your friend there? ‘Cause I tell you he’s been nothin’ but trouble since he got here.”

“Well that there’s Mr. Milton. Jim MIlton. An’ he’s trouble no matter where he is. Don’ take it personal”

“Sure, Mr _Callahan_.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“If this conversation were as polite are you seem to want it to be, this is the part where you give me your name Ma’am”

She considered him for a moment. “Fair’s fair Mr _Callahan_.” Arthur disliked the way she emphasized his false name. “ You can call me Ms … Potter. Ms Dixie Potter. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“A true pleasure to meet you Ms _Potter_ ” He mimicked her intonation, and tipped his hat. “So down to business I suppose. What’d my idiot friend over there do to earn himself the mark on his face”

“His face wasn’t my doing thank you very much. He showed up here last night, made so much noise I heard him from halfway down the damn mountain. Hollerin’ all over the hills, waving that gun around like a madman.” She lowered her gun, but kept her eyes trained on Arthur. She sat with one leg crossed over the other. Her green eyes were still narrowed and serious, looking indignantly at Arthur. He kept his posture open, and moved slowly so as not to cause alarm. She didn’t seem like the jumpy type; She’d been calm and controlled since the moment she’d appeared, but he didn’t like to take chances when a gun was pointed his way. She considered him for another moment before placing the gun next to her, and lifting the steaming percolator to pour a cup of coffee into a battered tin mug. She gestured to Arthur. He nodded in reply and fished his own mug out of his stachel, filling it from the offered percolator. 

“Don’t much care for visitors up here.” She continued, after taking a sip of coffee. “Greeted him much the same as I did you, ‘cept he didn’t have the brains you do apparently. Tried to shoot me. Didn’t appreciate that very much.” She paused again. Arthur sipped his coffee. He relished the warmth, and the bitterness. She took another slow sip of her own coffee and continued. “Unfortunately I had to crack him over the head to get him to calm. Once he was down, I bandaged his face, got him warm and dry by the fire.”

Arthur just now noticed that John was wearing unfamiliar clothes. His familiar jacket and pants were hung on a string just off from the fire. 

“Well he never was the brightest. Or the most polite for that matter. ” Arthur agreed, with a small laugh. “So what, you took him in out of the goodness of yer heart?”

“I think we’ve already established I ain’t in the habit of killing folk in my house, if it can be avoided. If he could rouse and get out on his own two feet, would make my life much easier.”

“You keep sayin’ this is your house. You really tryin’ to tell me you live here?”

The woman gave a small smile. “I admit it amy not seem like much, but it’s as good a place as any at the moment. Didn’t think I’d have so many visitors, given the season. Perhaps I need to move somewhere a bit quieter.”

The wind whistled outside the cave, but the fire made the space cozy in it’s own way. Arthur had to admit that he’d spent longer in far less pleasant locations. 

“Did he wake at all since you hit him? He say anything?”

She looked him in the eye, like she was trying to read his thoughts. “Woke briefly,” She spoke slowly, considering her words carefully. “Babbled some nonsense. Something about Blackwater, a bunch of money, and a plan gone wrong. Called out for … Abigail...i think it was. He seemed lucid for a spell. Asked his name.”

Arthur paused, his coffee cup halfway raised. “Oh yeah?”

“Said it was Marston.” She sipped slowly at her coffee again, not breaking eye contact with Arthur. It was unnerving. 

Arthur lowered the cup slowly. “Now, I think I can explain…” he started

She cut him off “Now I don’t much care what his name is, or what your name is for that matter, and I certainly don’t care about what the hell happened in Blackwater. Believe me, I want nothin’ to do with nothin’. I didn’t come out here for all this trouble.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a flask. She unstoppered it and took a deep drink. “Here,” she finished. “Consider this a peace offering. I don’t mean to harm those who don’t mean to harm me.” 

He took the flask from her, and his fingers brushed gently over hers. He took a swig from the flask, and the soothing burn of whiskey filled his mouth. “Much obliged.” He replied. “I try not to get in the habit of killin’ those who don’t need killin’.” He passed the flask back to her and she pocketed it. 

There was a long moment of silence. 

“What did you come out here for?” Arthur asked finally, raising an eyebrow at her. “Ain’t everyday you find a lone woman holed up halfway up a mountain, ‘specially in a storm like this. Now I ain’t sayin I’m not grateful. I appreciate what you done for my friend, and I particularly appreciate not gettin shot” he paused “an’ the coffee’s fine too.” she gave a small smile at that.

She sighed and rubbed her temple. “Just had to get outta the world for a while. Got on the wrong side of someone I shouldn’t have. Just need a bit of time for folk o forget about it is all. Bit of time away will let the boiling blood settle. Ain’t my first time in trouble, doubt it’s my last. Somehow I get the feeling you’re familiar with the necessity of laying low. ”

He hummed in acknowledgement.“Ain’t that the truth. I think we might understand each other quite well Ms Potter.” he paused, and considered her for a moment. “Who was it you crossed?”

She looked at her boots and sipped at her coffee ”Nobody good. Best I don’t tell you. Ain’t nothin’ good will come from knowin’.” She scratched absentmindedly at her cheek and he could see the ghost of an old scar running through her left eyebrow. I thin white line, standing out in her otherwise fine features. It gave her a preternatural look of severity, especially in the dancing light of the fire “You can stay ‘till he comes around again.” She stated eventually “I admit, it’s been nice to talk to someone. Been alone for a while. It wears on the soul.” 

~~~~

They finished their coffees and she pulled some meat out of a wrapper and began heating it over the fire. Arthur asked permission to go get his horse and his things and she’d nodded in response. He carefully led the horse into the cover of the cave. When he returned she handed him a slab of venison, seasoned with herbs he recognized as sage and rosemary. The haphazard manner in which he had left Blackwater, combined with the long trek through the storm had left him hungry. He hadn’t had a real meal in 2 days and now his stomach growled to remind him.

She instructed him to lay his bedroll behind the canvas sheet, near to hers. While he worked, she unwound John’s bandage and dabbed at his face with a damp cloth. He had a nasty gash along the right side of his face which had swollen up fiercely. He mumbled something incoherent and Arthur rushed over at the sound of his voice. “John, shit, kid can you hear me?”

“...A..a....Arthur?”

“Yeah Marston It’s me. You're gonna be OK, kid.”

“Shit Morgan, it all went to hell.”

“Shh..shh… I know, but it’s gonna be alright. You just rest. Not gonna let you die up here kid, Abigail wants to kill you herself.”

His eyes fluttered closed again and quiet breathing resumed. 

She looked at Arthur quizzically. “His Wife.” he explained “They’re always hollerin’ at each other. She sent me out lookin’ for him. She’s a terrifying woman when riled. If he don’t make it make, she’ll skin me alive.” He paused and chuckled to himself “Though if he does make it back, She’ll give him such a tongue lashin’, he might wish he were dead.”

She gave a small snort of laughter “Suppose I’ll have to pray for him either way then.” 

~~~~~

John was wrapped in blankets and the fire was stoked. Once the horse was settled, and the camp put in order, Arthur sat down on his bedroll and stared at John’s sleeping form

“I ain’t gonna kill you in your sleep Mr. _Morgan_. You don’t need to look so worried.”

“Shit.” Arthur swore quietly. “He never did know when to keep his damn mouth shut.”

He turned his head and found himself looking into her eyes. 

“Penelope.” She said quietly. “Penelope Blairr… suppose it’s only fair.”

Arthur smiled. “Arthur Morgan. A pleasure to meet you properly Ms Blair.”

She smiled back at him and extended her hand “Call me Penny.” He brought his hand up to meet hers and shook it. Her grip was strong, and her hand was warm despite the chill in the air. 

His eyes lingered on hers before raking over her face, her neck, down her arm, to focus on her hand, still enveloped in his own. She was beautiful, in her own way, with her outsized clothes, thin lips, and halo of hair peeking out from her hat. She retreated from his grasp slowly, with a small smile on her face. “Sleep well Mr Morgan.” she said quietly, before rolling over to face the canvas wall. He exhaled slowly and rolled away from her, his eyes finally fluttering closed. He was dead tired from the trek up the mountain. 

~~~~

Arthur slept more soundly than he had expected lulled by the soft sound of the wind outside their cozy hideout, and by Penny’s breathing next to him. 

When dawn broke, he rose and rekindled the fire. Water was heated and Penny pulled a sack of rolled oats and a small pot of honey from her food stash to make porridge. 

They ate in silence. The wind had died down some from the night before, and the sun seemed to be peaking out from the clouds. John stirred. He coughed, and Arthur dropped his bowl with a clatter to rush to his side. 

“You with us Kid?”

“Think so Old Man.” John’s eyes cracked open and he blinked in the sunlight. “ ...Face feels like it’s on fire though.” he let out a low groan of pain. 

Arthur helped him to stand and led him closer to the fire. Penny pressed a warm bowl of porridge into John’s hand. “You best eat something cowboy. Not gonna make it off this mountain without a bit of fuel to burn.” John nodded and ate with heaping spoonfuls. When the bowl was empy, he breathed a satisfied huff. The porridge seemed to do the trick, he eyes regained some light, though he still moved slowly and painfully. He looked down at himself, like he was assessing the damage from his journey up the mountain. 

“What the hell am I wearing? These ain’t my clothes.”

It was only now that Arthur really noticed ridiculous hodge podge of clothing that John was dressed in. Too-short plaid dress pants, a forest green wool button down that didn’t quite close across the chest, mismatched socks sticking out of untied boots,, and a blanket wrapped around him like a cape. Arthur laughed, long and deep. “I dunno Marston, this style seems to suit you.”

“My apologies if the options were limited. Couldn’t rightly leave you in your wet things. You’d’a frozen to death before that face wound killed you.” Penny cracked a toothy smile. “I ain’t got much call for clothes to fit a man of your size so you had to make do with some of my own things. I’ll have you know it’s no small task to dress someone while they’re unconscious, so you’re welcome.”

John opened and closed his mouth like a fish, before blustering. “Jesus, lady, you can’t just go around undressin’ fellers… It’s ain’t...proper.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Arthur jibbed “There ain’t nothin’ attractive about hypothermia and fresh facial wounds. I’m quite certain your honour is intact… If you had any left to begin with.” John scowled at him and muttering something about indignity and privacy.

Penny rolled her eyes. “Well next time you fall into my house in a state of emergency, I’ll leave you on the porch to freeze to death, how about that?.” She turned away muttering. “Like I ain’t never seen a man’s long johns before… Lord above…”

Arthur gathered John’s clothing, which had dried out nicely over the fire and helped him change out. “I think she saved your life.” he said in a low voice. 

John nodded. “Yeah, I think you might be right. Lost my horse to wolves. Think I wasn’t far behind.” He fumbled with the buttons of his coat. “What sorta woman camps out in a cave like this?” 

Arthur shrugged. “You an’ me are out here. I reckon she ain’t so different.” He hefted John up, one arm slung over his shoulder “C’mon Marston, let’s get you off this mountain.” 

He loaded John onto the horse and walked back towards Penny, his hand extended. She grasped it with both of hers. “It was a real pleasure Ms Blair. I really don’ know how to thank you enough. My friend there might be too proud to say it out loud, but you saved his life, and for that we owe you a debt” 

She squeezed his hand. Her grp was firm and he could feel the callouses on her fingers. She had hand accustomed to hard work “Pleasure’s mine Mr Morgan. I hope you make it down safely.”

“You stayin’ up here then?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. “World ain’t often kind to anyone travels alone.” He paused, rubbing one hand on the back of his neck. “You could...I dunno… travel with us a spell if you like…”

She gave him a melancholy look, her eyes soft. “Bein’ alone is what I know best Mr Morgan. It’s better that way for now I think.” she shrugged. “But I’ll be movin on shortly. This spot has become a bit too popular for my liking.” She smiled and locked eyes with him. "Perhap's we'll meet again someday."

Arthur nodded, and released her hand, his fingers trailing slowly past hers. "I reckon I'd like that Ms Blair."He tipped his hat, and mounted his horse, beginning the slow ride back to Dutch’s encampment.


	2. Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Lenny head into the valentine Saloon to decompress. Arthur finds a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics in this chapter are from a Marty Robbins classic called "Big Iron"

Valentine stank of sheep... of dung and wet lanolin. It pervaded the senses and seemed to hang heavy over the townsite. Arthur and Dutch’s gang had been camped at horseshoe overlook for just over two weeks, and he had yet to get accustomed to the smell every time he ventured into town. 

Still, he relished the opportunity to restock on supplies, have his horse tended to at the stables, and generally spend a bit of time around people other than his fellow gang members. Tensions around camp were still high. The gravity of what had happened in Blackwater hung heavy over the camp. Mac, Davey and Jenny were dead, Sean was missing. John was still recovering from his wounds, Lenny and Micah were in the wind. 

He’d spent some time out hunting with Charles, run some errands with Bill and the girls in town, and helped out around camp. Camp chores kept him grounded. Arthur liked to feel like he was helping. Hauling bags of grain, refilling water, feeding the horses, cutting firewood… after Blackwater and John’s rescue mission it almost felt relaxing. 

He was in camp when Lenny had returned, breathless and sweating, his horse nearly dead on its feet from running. From what Lenny described, Micah had caused enough of a scene in Strawberry to get himself locked up by local law enforcement. Lenny had barely escaped with his life. Dutch was fond of the boy and had sent him into town with Arthur to decompress.

Arthur pushed the swinging doors or the saloon open, one hand on Lenny’s shoulder. “C’mon kid, Dutch said to get a drink to calm yer nerves. I’m buyin’ the first round”. He clapped Lenny on the back and sidled up to the bar. 

He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair to sweep to it back. He’d had the chance to purchase pomade for the first time in recent memory and he sort of relished the feeling of the hair product on his fingers. He smoothed his hair flat once more and signaled to the barkeeper. Lenny stood next to him, head hung low, leaning heavily on the bar. 

“Couple a’ whiskeys if you please.” Arthur said to the barkeep, who nodded and pulled a half full bottle off the shelf, sliding a pair of glasses in front of him. Arthur raised his glass and knocked back his shot. “Lenny c’mon, Micah’ll get outta whatever mess he’s made. Or I’ll get him out of it.” He motioned for the bartender to pour him another and continued “Actually that second one seems more likely. I sure save his ass a lot considering how little I like him.” 

This brought a small huff of a laugh from Lenny. “S’pose that’s true.” The younger man cracked a narrow smile “That fool sure knows how to get into it. Not so skilled at getting out though.” Lenny played with his glass thoughtfully for a moment before raising it to his lips “Fuck it.” He declared, and downed his shot. “ After the shit storm that asshole got me into this week, I think I’ve earned a night off.” Arthur let out a raucous laugh and clapped Lenny on the back again. 

They put back several more shots and started to banter with each other, about heists, gang politics, girls, who had the better horse… Arthur liked Lenny. He was easy to talk to and had a cheerful disposition. The kid was a good shot and as far as Arthur could tell, he had a good head on his shoulders. 

They were several drinks deep when the music in the saloon changed. Up to this point there had been a piano player, as was typical entertainment in saloons. The piano stopped , and was replaced for a few minutes by the idle chatter of bar patrons and the scrapping of chairs. Arthur could see the piano player chatting with someone over in the corner, the musician motioned towards the makeshift corner stage, and a slim figure came into view, working their way up to the stage area, and pulling a guitar out of a battered case. It wasn’t unusual for travelling musicians to make stops at saloons along their road. Such musicians made for a welcome change from the worn out tunes of the local pianist. 

Arthur wasn’t able to see the musician clearly, but he heard the sudden melodious strum of a guitar hitting a strong chord to gain the attention of the saloon. There was almost a hush that rolled through the crowd. Arthur found himself staring at the drink in his hands, subconsciously tapping his fingers on the polished wood surface of the bar in time to the music. A strong voice filled the hall.

_“To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day / Hardly spoke to folks around him, didn't have too much to say / No one dared to ask his business, no one dared to make a slip / For the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip / Big iron on his hip”_

It was a woman’s voice, rising strong and clear over the din of the bar. 

_“It was early in the morning when he rode into the town / He came riding from the south side slowly lookin' all around / He's an outlaw loose and running, came the whisper from each lip / And he's here to do some business with the big iron on his hip / Big iron on his hip”_

Arthur turned to face the player. She was dressed in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, dark trousers held up with thin leather suspenders, her gaze was turned away from him, and her large black hat blocked his view of her face. 

_“In this town there lived an outlaw by the name of Texas Red / Many men had tried to take him and that many men were dead / He was vicious and a killer though a youth of 24 / And the notches on his pistol numbered one and 19 more / One and 19 more”_

Her fingers danced on the fretboard, long and slender. Several people had begun to dance in front of her and a few more began to clap along. 

_“Now the stranger started talking, made it plain to folks around / Was an Arizona ranger, wouldn't be too long in town / He came here to take an outlaw back alive or maybe dead / And he said it didn't matter he was after Texas Red / After Texas Red”_

Arthur raised his glass and sipped his drink slowly. His gaze didn’t waver from the musician, trying to get a glimps of her face, still obscured by her hat and her hair.

_“Wasn't long before the story was relayed to Texas Red / But the outlaw didn't worry men that tried before were dead / 20 men had tried to take him, 20 men had made a slip / 21 would be the ranger with the big iron on his hip / Big iron on his hip”_

Lenny grabbed him by the shoulder “Jesus she’s got a voice on her.” He said jovially, knocking back his own drink. “I gotta take a piss Art.” Lenny’s speech had started to slur a bit. He stumbled out the side door, leaving Arthur sitting alone at the bar. 

_“The morning passed so quickly, it was time for them to meet / It was 20 past 11 when they walked out in the street / Folks were watching from the windows, everybody held their breath / They knew this handsome ranger was about to meet his death / About to meet his death.”_

Her voice lowered, and she leaned almost conspiratorially towards the crowd. Arthur was entranced.

_“There was 40 feet between them when they stopped to make their play / And the swiftness of the ranger is still talked about today / Texas Red had not cleared leather 'fore a bullet fairly ripped / And the ranger's aim was deadly with the big iron on his hip / Big iron on his hip.”_

She lifted her head towards the crowd, her eyes were closed. She struck her boot heel against a crate sitting behind her in time with the song

_“It was over in a moment and the folks had gathered round / There before them lay the body of the outlaw on the ground / Oh, he might have went on living but he made one fatal slip / When he tried to match the ranger with the big iron on his hip / Big iron on his hip”_

Most of the bar was stomping or clapping along, there were whoops and hollers from the crowd.

_“Big iron, big iron / When he tried to match the ranger with the big iron on his hip / Big iron on his hip”_

She played a final chord progression and the crowd applauded raucously. 

“Thanks folks, I’d love to say I’m here all week, but I probably ain’t gonna be.” She said with a laugh, giving a small curtsy before lifting the guitar strap off her shoulder and stowing the instrument in a case next to her. 

The barkeeper slid a glass over to her as she approached the bar. She tipped her hat in thanks “You’ve got one helluva voice Ms Fergusen” the barkeep said jovially. I haven’t seen a crowd respond this well since I don’t remember when.” 

“Don’t you try to flatter me Mr Martin'' she said to the barkeep warmly, lifting her drink to her lips and knocking it back. Arthur stared at her. Her hair was loose and flowed out from beneath her hat, reaching midway down her back in loose amber waves. She had the same freckle dusted face, the same sharp green eyes. The light from the lamps of the saloon pitched a warm glow over her face, and the shadow of her hat gave her a haunted, almost ghostly look. .. He slowly sidled down the bar to stand next to her. Waving for the barkeep to bring him another “One for the lady as well please, friend.” 

She looked up at him and broke a thin lipped smile “Mr Morgan” she said quietly, so as not to be heard over the din of the room “What a pleasure to see you again.” She lifted her fresh drink in cheers. He followed suit. “ You as well… Ms… _Ferguson_ … was it?” he bantered. She hummed “For today at least” she replied quietly. 

The two of them stood in silence. Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. The piano player had returned to his bench and was pounding out a raucous tune.

“Ma’am I don’t mean to be forward, and I certainly ain’t trying to be fresh, but you wanna sit somewhere a little more quiet? I got a head full of questions and I feel we could talk easier without all these ears around.” 

She smirked at him “Mr Morgan you are perhaps the most polite outlaw I’ve ever met.” She waved down the barkeep again and requested a bottle of bourbon. “C’mon Cowboy, I know a good place.” She turned and walked out the swinging doors into the street. Arthur followed in her wake. 

* * *

She led them around the back of the building. There was a roughly made bench overlooking the field and forest on the edge of Valentine. She sat, pulled the cork from the bottle with her teeth and took a drink. She passed the bottle to Arthur as he sat beside her. 

They were silent for a moment, passing the bottle back and forth. “I guess you and your friend made it down the mountain ok then.” She looked up at him from under the brim of her hat. 

“Yeah we did. Been near Valentine for a couple weeks now. You have any issues getting down?” He asked. 

She shrugged “Nothing major. Had to leave my horse behind a while ago so it took a while on foot, but I made it down in one piece.” She took another swig from the bottle “That’s why I’m in town actually. Need a new mount. Stable master agreed to give me a good price. The money I got from playin’ at the saloon tonight should about cover the cost of a new animal.”

“You stickin’ around?” He queried.

“Naw, don’t want to stay anywhere long enough to be memorable, you know.” She sighed. “Been here longer than I should be already. I’ll be leaving town tomorrow once I get that horse.” The night was warm, and a slight breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees. Arthur glanced over at Penny. The moonlight caught in her eyes. She looked almost ethereal the way her hair shifted softly in the wind. He was struck by a sudden desire to twine his fingers through her hair. There was something about this woman. She seemed like a wild animal one moment, like an angel another. 

“That musta been one hell of a walk Ms Blair.” She nodded in response. 

“I don’t mind walking, really. Gives you time to sort through your thoughts you know? And it makes it easier to travel unseen. I’d rather my movement go as unnoticed as possible.”

“You still runnin’ then?”

She looked him in the eye and considered him for a moment. “Seems that way.”

“Who you runnin from?”

She huffed a laugh “Who ain’t I runnin’ from. Got a mess of folks on my tail.”

“I’m serious Ms Blair. Might be able to help.”

“Well Mr Morgan, you know my real name and I didn’t notice any adverse reaction to that information but I’ll be frank with you, I’ve been runnin’ from so many folks it’s hard to keep them straight anymore.”

She stared him directly in the face like she was trying to measure his soul.

He tried to stop his tongue from asking the question, but it came out anyway “So your name really is Penny?” He asked. “Seems like you ain’t quick to share who you really are. Why’d you tell me?” 

She smiled and laughed, her cheeks rosy from the cool night air and the whiskey. “It really is.” she paused. The soft sound of wind and crickets filled the silence. “Don’t ask me why I told you. Might have been a mistake, but then again I always have been easily swayed by handsome cowboys.” she shrugged. 

Arthur grumbled a bit at this “Must not have gotten a good look in the darkness darlin’. I have it on good authority that I’m best described as tall, dumb,and ugly.” He rubbed the back of his neck. 

She surprised him by reaching across brushing her fingers through his hair, pushing the overgrown locks away from his eyes “Why Mr Morgan, I didn’t take you for the bashful type.” 

He was silent for a moment “Ms Blair,” He said quietly.” I Ain’t a good man.” It was almost a whisper.

“And I ain’t some blushing schoolgirl. I’ve known my share of bad men Arthur Morgan. Near as I can see, You ain’t even on the top 10 list.”

“van Der Linde” He said quietly, testing the waters. “That name mean anything to you?

Her gaze didn’t leave his “I’ve heard it before. What’s it mean to you?”

He broke away from the scrutiny of her eyes. “Dutch. Dutch van Der Linde. That’s who I run with.”

She considered him for a moment. “Gentleman Dutch.” She said slowly. “Yeah I’ve heard of him. Kinda figured that was the case. I do read the papers you know.” She looked away from him and took another deep drink from the bottles. “I heard of him. Never run into him personally though”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. “Well if you don’t have any beef with Dutch, then you ain’t runnin’ from me. Dutch don’t hold grudges where he can avoid it.”

“If what the papers say about Blackwater is true, you might be in even more trouble than me.” She passed him the bottle. 

He grunted in affirmation “ Yep. We got into it in a bad way. Barely got out alive. Three of ours died, one is still in the wind.” his shoulders sagged as he thought of Mac, Davey, and Jenny. Sean was still missing but in his heart he felt the kid was still alive. “You weren’t the only one hiding from bad business in them mountains.” he said, eyes on the ground.

There was a beat of silence.

“I robbed Colm O’Driscoll.” She said suddenly. “Held him up at gunpoint. Actually ended up shooting him in the arm. Just a graze, but still.”

“Jesus woman, you got a death wish?”

She laughed “Maybe I do Mr Morgan. I’ll be honest, I didn’t know who I was stealing from at the time. I ain’t from around here. I just saw an old man with more gold than was fair and felt inclined to relieve him of it.” 

She looked serious, and her gaze strayed to the nearby forest “I figured that I could take on one old coot. Turns out I was very wrong. I got about 20 minutes down the road with his goods before the full force of his gang was chasin' me. Dropped the goods and ran like hell. They caught me. Strung me up for a few days. Smacked me around some. Threatened to do much worse but I managed to get away. Killed 5 or 6 on the way out the door. I have a feeling ol’ Colm isn’t gonna let me off easy with that.” 

Arthur gave a small laugh “Trust me when I tell you that Colm O’Driscoll ain’t one to forgive and forget. Dutch is gonna be awful happy to hear that bastard took a bullet though.”

“Colm ain’t my only problem, but he’s certainly the nearest threat, given that I’m still camping on his territory. I’ll feel a lot better when there’s a large stretch of country between me an’ him.”

“Well Ms Blair, let me assure you that any enemy of Colm O’Driscoll and his band of low down dogs is a friend of mine.” He passed the bottle back to her. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him. “You’re a hell of a woman Ms Blair.”

“Penny” She said in a low voice. 

“If you say so.” he breathed. His hand seemed to move of its own accord. He reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

The moment seemed to hang like a question between them. He could feel the warmth radiating off her. His hand settled along the side of her neck and he leaned in slowly. He could smell the whiskey on her breath, and the sweet scent of grass in her hair. She tilted her head to meet his gaze just before their lips met. Her lips were soft and warm against his. His thumb caressed the side of her cheek. She made a small sound.

He pulled back breathing heavy. “Jesus Penny I… I’m… I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me.” he made to stand but she grabbed his hand and pulled him back down. 

“I told you I have a soft spot for handsome Cowboys. You, Arthur Morgan, fit that bill better than you care to admit.” her hand wove into his hair and she gently pulled him towards her. He relished the feeling of her lips on his, one hand on the back of his head, another teasing at his cheek. Her lips parted gently, allowing his tongue to slide against hers.

Without breaking their contact, she slung a leg over his hips, straddling him and pinning his hips to the rough hewn bench. His hands found her hips. One hand stayed low, grounding him at her hip, the other began to trace lazily up her back. She kept a firm grip in his hair. The tension of her fingers in his hair brought forth a low growl from him. They parted lips, both panting, staring into each other’s eyes. 

“I’ve been wondering what that would feel like since I first saw you.” she whispered. 

“I ain’t a good man Penny. I’ll bring you trouble.”

“Arthur I’ve been handling trouble for years.” She nipped at his lip and his hand spread wide across her back.

He was about to draw her down into another deep kiss when he heard his name shouted on the evening breeze. 

“ARTHUR! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?” It was Lenny. 

Arthur sighed and his shoulders sagged “Shit.” he breathed. “I’m fond ’a that kid but he’s always had truly awful timing.” Penny ran a hand along his face before sliding off Arthur’s lap. “I’d best be going Cowboy.” She whispered to him and made to leave. He reached out quickly and grabbed her by the hand. “Wait” he said urgently. She looked at him almost mournfully. “Please” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. 

“I told you last time Mr Morgan, I’m better off alone for now. Alone is what I know.” 

Her fingers slipped through his hands as she stepped away, towards to forest, her guitar case in hand. “I do hope we meet again though Cowboy. I ain’t finished with you.” She smile and slipped into the darkness of the trees, leaving Arthur alone on the bench. There was a moment of silence before he heard Lenny shouting again. 

“He rubbed his hands over his face and breathed out long and slow. “Yeah Lenny I’m here.” Lenny stumbled into view, a bottle in hand. “‘Bout time I found you old man. Things were gettin’ weird in the bar. What’re you doin’ out here all alone?”

Arthur sighed “Dunno kid. Whatdya say we head back in?” Lenny whooped and Arthur hauled himself back to his feet, the pair of them making their way back onwards the bright lights of the saloon. 

* * *

He awoke in the Valenine sheriff’s office with a miserable headache, the taste of stale liquor in his mouth, and the hazy memory of bright green eyes. He wandered back to the saloon on a whim. Perhaps hoping that she’d reappear. SHe walked up to the bar and the barkeep nodded at him. “Hair of the dog?” the man asked

Arthur shook his head “Naw I’m alright.” he thought for a moment “say feller you don’t know where that guitar player from last night might be found do you?”

The barkeep gave a jovial laugh. “‘Fraid not friend. She’s one hell of a woman ain’t she.”

Arthur sighed and murmured in agreement.

“Are you Mr Callahan by any chance?” the barkeep asked. 

“I might be.” Arthur raised an eyebrow at the question. 

“She left a note for an Arthur Callahan. Said you might be by sometime soon.” The man handed Arthur a piece of paper folded into a square. He nodded to the barkeep and pocketed the slip of paper. 

Arthur and Lenny rode back to camp. He sat at his wagon and flipped the slip of paper over in his hands. He opened it carefully. Inside as a short letter written in a tight, neat hand. 

“Dear Mr _Callahan_ , 

I’m sorry that I was unable to stay and finish our visit. I fear we are unlikely to see each other anytime soon. My time in Valentine has already attracted too much unwanted attention, and I think it’s best if I disappear for a spell. 

I appreciate your offer of help but I’m in no position to burden others with problems of my own making. Nonetheless, the offer was kind. You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for. That much is clear to see. 

I hope to run into you again, and perhaps share another bottle.

Sincerely, 

_Eleanor Ferguson_

P.S. If you run into our mutual friend, be sure to inquire as to how his arm is healing.


	3. Blessed be the Peacemakers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's in a rough way after a run in with Colm O'driscoll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Chapter 3.

Arthur had known it was a bad idea from the start. He knew it in his gut the moment Micah had pitched the meeting. Nothing good ever came from Micah’s ideas.

The idea of willingly meeting with Colm O’Driscoll had struck a discordant note with Arthur, but Dutch had agreed with Micah, and where Dutch went, Arthur followed. 

Of course it had gone to hell almost immediately. Arthur was positioned high on a ridge with a scoped rifle to keep an eye on Dutch. He’d been focusing so hard on the interaction between Dutch and Colm that he failed to hear the crunch of approaching boots in the shale. 

His head throbbed where the O’Driscoll goon had hit him with the butt end of a rifle. His shoulder burned with pain, and he could feel his ankles and wrists rubbed raw from rope burn. His vision was blurred, but he could tell that he was hanging upside down. Arthur had one thought on his mind. Escape. Colm would kill him eventually otherwise; as slowly and painfully as possible. Colm O’Driscoll had a reputation to uphold, and guaranteed he would not show leniency to Dutch’s right hand man. 

Arthur slowly moved his gaze around the room. His eyes fell on a sharp object… a file… on a nearby table. He steadied his breathing and focused, working to swing his body back and forth until he could finally wrap his fingers around the file. He cut through his bonds with practiced efficiency. He hadn’t made it to this age without getting in a bind or two. Instinct had taken over. 

The pain in his shoulder was sharper now that he was upright, and he felt blood oozing down his front. A bullet wound. Not fresh by the feel of it, he felt feverish. He managed to find the ingredients for what Dutch liked to refer to as “The Outlaw’s surgeon.” gunpowder, a candle, and the file still in his hand. He carefully heated the file over the candle flame, and thanked whatever higher power there might be that his dominant side was usable. His hand shook a little, but he continued in his task

He took several deep breaths, well aware of the pain that he was about to endure, before jamming the now red hot file into his shoulder wound. He tried his best to hold back the sounds of agony, but the pain won out. He let loose a howl, which tapered to a whimper as he removed the file from his shoulder. At least he wouldn’t bleed out. His shouts had attracted attention. There was movement and voices outside the door. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but the tone was harried. SUddenly shots rang out, and the door was wrenched open. Arthur held the now cooling file in front of him like a knife. A body fell through into the cellar. Several more shots. The quick clattering of boots on wooden stairs leading towards him. His vision was swimming. The figure that walked down the stairs was illuminated from behind giving an ethereal outline. A wide brimmed hat, a bandana covered face, and a slim profile. 

“Thank Christ Arthur…. You’re alive.” It was Penny’s voice. 

Arthur mumbled something incoherent and his vision started to fade. A sharp sting on his face. 

She’d slapped him. 

“Wha’ the ‘ell…” he struggled to form words. 

“C’mon Cowboy, don’t black out on me now. We gotta move.” she slung one of his arms over her shoulder and helped him up the stairs. “Can you manage a pistol?” she asked. He grunted and nodded. She pressed a volcanic pistol into his hand. “If it moves, shoot it” she said quickly. “Now move Morgan or we’re both dead.”

She hauled him from the cellar door and moved quickly towards the woods. She sent several shots behind them, and from the sounds of men in pain, they found their mark. Arthur took a calming breath and the cool night air helped bring his eyes into focus. He let off two shots. Another man fell. The pair moved through the undergrowth, Penny supporting his weight. There was a horse that Arthur didn’t recognize. “Up you get Cowboy, quick now, we gotta run. If they catch us, Colm will make sure we know that we failed… don’t wanna go back there.” He heaved himself onto the beast and she jumped up in front of him. “Hold on tight Morgan.” he wrapped his arms around her waist and held on with all of his remaining strength. She kicked the horse into a gallop and they sped off into the night. 

They rode for sometime at full tilt, the horse breathing heavy, Arthur’s vision faded again. He felt cold. He could hear Penny’s breathing, feel her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Stay with me Arthur. Don’t you die on me.”

“Yes Ma’am” he slurred out. “Never could say no to a pretty lady with a gun.”

“Don’t you try to sweet talk me now Morgan. If you die while flirting with me I may never recover.”

Eventually she slowed the horse to a walk and led them deep into the forest. Once she’d pulled Arthur from the horse and propped him against a tree, she disappeared for several minutes. He barely heard her footsteps when she came back to his side “I think I covered our tracks pretty good. Stay quiet though. Need to make sure we lost them.” She quickly reloaded her 6 shooter, Arthur’s Volcanic, and pulled a repeater from the horse. She ran a hand down the animal’s side to calm it. “Shhhhh...You did good…. Shhhh now girl.” The horse nosed into her hand affectionately. Penny turned back to face Arthur, gathering her weapons. She was wearing a dark jacket over a white button down shirt, and had a bandolier full of rounds across her chest. Her shirt had several buttons open and her upper chest and shirt was streaked with blood. His blood. Her eyes blazed in the forest-dappled light of the full moon. She looked ghostly. Much like she had in the cave the first night he saw her. 

“You look like an angel.” he struggled out. Eyes unfocused, struggling to keep them open. He tried to sit up, but was unable to raise himself from the forest floor. 

“Hush, I bet you say that to all the girls.”

She sat behind him and pulled his head into her lap. “Shh... just rest a while. Need to make sure we weren’t followed.” 

His eyes fluttered shut. The last thing he remembered was the feeling of her hands stroking his hair.

* * *

The sunlight filtered in through the trees in the morning, gently warming his face. Arthur blinked and let out a low groan. His shoulder felt like it was on fire and his head pounded painfully. “Don’t try to sit up just yet.” 

“Ms…. B...lair.” he struggled to get the words out. 

“Shhhhh don’t speak. Here.” she lifted a canteen to his lips and poured a trickle of water into his mouth. “Slowly now.”

He swallowed gratefully. 

“Do you remember what happened?” It all came back to him. The cellar, the firefight, the escape, clinging onto Penny while she pushed her horse away from the hellfire of the O’Driscoll Camp. 

“More or less.” his voice was thick.

“You’re in a bad way Arthur. You need medical attention.”

“Clemens...Clemens Point...Camp… Dutch… gotta…” he struggled to get words out. 

“That’s not far. Think you can stay on a horse?” He nodded slowly. “OK cowboy. Let’s get you home.” She helped him stand. He staggered and nearly fell back to the ground, but her firm grip held him steady. It took a few attempts for him to heave himself onto the horse. She jumped up behind him this time, wrapping her arms around his torso to keep him from sliding off. And gently nudged the animal to a walk. Arthur’s vision came and went over the ride. He saw flashes of familiar terrain and Penny’s arms on either side of him were the only thing keeping him from sliding to the earth.

It felt like they had ridden for years when he heard a familiar voice ring out “ Hey! Who the hell are you!” It was Javier. 

“This Van Der Linde’s Camp?” Penny queried in a strong voice.

“That depends?” Javier’s drawl was coming from nearby “What’s your business here?”

“Got a delivery for him.” her tone was sarcastic. 

“Dios Mio Arthur?!” Javier yelled out “DUTCH! HOSEA! JOHN! GODDAMMIT SOMEBODY GET OVER HERE!”

Javier rushed to Penny’s horse and Arthur felt strong hands haul him down to the ground. 

Penny jumped down “Careful, his shoulder…” she was interrupted by Dutch’s loud tenor cutting through the fracas. 

“What the hell is going on Javier?”

“Dutch it’s Arthur…” Dutch’s face floated into Arthur’s view. 

“Jesus Christ son, where have you been... Who did this to you...we’ve been… we’ve been so worried…” Dutch rambled. Eventually Javier tapped him on the shoulder and motioned towards Penny who was still standing by her horse. 

“Who in the hell are you?” Dutch’s tone was calm, almost icy. 

“I ain’t nobody worth knowin’” she replied. Just as calmly. “Just a friend of your boy there. When he comes to, tell him he owes me one.” 

Dutch advanced towards her, slowly, calmly, but with an undercurrent of threat. “Young lady, I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but you just dropped my son on my doorstep in this shape… I’m gonna need an explanation…”

Dutch and Penny stared at each other. Penny had steel in her gaze. She set her jaw. ”Ask your friend Colm.”

There was a moment of silence. Javier’s eyes flicked from Penny to Dutch and back again. 

Footsteps in the grass. “Ms…. Ms Blair?” all three of them turned to look at John, who was walking quickly up on the scene. “Jesus Christ what are you doing here?”

“Hello again Mr Marston.” Penny replied slowly, with a small sigh. “Glad to see you’ve recovered. I’d even say those scars make you look mighty distinguished.” she nodded to John “Seem’s it’s Arthur’s turn to need a hand gettin’ outta trouble.” She turned to look at Dutch “Gotta Say Mr … Van Der Linde I assume?... I’ve been making quite the habit of rescuing your boys here.”

Dutch opened and closed his mouth and turned to look at John. 

John strode over to Penny and grasped her by the shoulder, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“Well, now we both owe you. He’s in good hands now. C’mon lets get you a drink. You look about ready to fall over yourself” John took her by the arm and led her into camp, brushing past Dutch. She tipped her hat to him as she passed.

* * *

John led Penny through the camp and sat her down at a table close to the fire. He grabbed a half full bottle of brandy, two glasses, and a loaf of bread. “Here,” he pressed a glass of liquor into her hand. “C’mon, you look white as a sheet.” She shook her head and looked down at her hands. 

“I must look like a right state.” she said with a small smile. “Pretty sure none of this is my blood though. You’re boy took a bad shot. I just hope we got here soon enough. My medical training is more… rudimentary than I might like.” she nibbled at the bread and toyed with the glass in her hands. 

“I hate to say it, but we unfortunately have some experts in managing gunshot wounds around this camp.” John replied. “He’ll pull through. He’d too stubborn to die anyway.”

Penny huffed a laugh and her shoulders relaxed a bit. She took a sip of the brandy and hummed in approval.

“Ms Blair, I admit I wasn’t at my best when we last met. I wanted to thank you properly for what you done for me…” he was interrupted by Dutch, who was charging over to the table, Hosea following in his wake.

“Ok I want an explanation and I want it right the hell now.” his face was ruddy with anger, nostrils flared, and hair askew. 

“Dutch calm down.” Hosea placated. “The girl brought him back here, and in a real hurry from the looks of it. I’d say she doesn’t mean us any harm.” His kind gaze turned to Penny. “I hate to ask, but you weren’t followed were you?”

Penny looked the two men up and down, Dutch, seething, his eyes wild, Hosea with a hand on Dutch’s shoulder, grounding him. “I’m good at covering my tracks. Ain’t nobody coulda followed us. I’ve had enough time on the run to know how to do it right thank you very much.”

“See Dutch, the girl knows what she’s doing. She’s done us a great service bringing Arthur back. Lets give her a little benefit of the doubt.” he patted Dutch on the shoulder. Dutch’s posture seemed to sag a bit and he collapsed into a chair at the table. John handed him a glass of Brandy. 

“My apologies Ma’am” Dutch said, his voice thick. “Don’t know what came over me. Seeing Arthur like that … well it made me see red. I raised that boy like a son.”

“John why don’t you show the young lady to a tent. She can stay with us a while.” 

“Mr…” she started.

“Matthews, Ma’am. Hosea Matthews.”

“Alright then Mr Matthews, I appreciate the offer but I don’t intend on sticking around. I have my own business to attend to.” Penny responded to Hosea, her tone was sweet, but there was still steel in her gaze. 

“Please,” replied Hosea gently “I insist. You’ve done us a great service today. Like Dutch said, Arthur is very important to us. It would be a pleasure to let you recuperate here before you head on your way.” 

Penny considered him for a moment “Some of my things are still out at my camp. I don’t care to leave them there much longer than needed.” 

Hosea signalled Javier over with a wave “Mr Escuella, our guest has left her affects at her camp. Would you be so kind as to retrieve them for her. Take Mr Summers with you.” 

Penny drew out a crude map with directions “There’s a guitar case and some saddle bags with personal items. I can go back for anything else later.” She thanked Javier . 

He gave her a rakish smile “Another guitar player…. maybe we can play a duet when I’m back.” He turned with a wink and whistled to his horse. 

Hosea led Dutch away from the table, back towards his tent, leaving John and Penny at the table. 

“I’d like to see him.” She said quietly. 

John nodded and rose. He led her to Arthur’s tent on the other side of camp. 

Arthur’s union suit had been stripped off to the waist, leaving his broad chest bare. A thick bandage had been applied to his shoulder. He lay still, eyes closed, breathing quietly. Penny sat on a stool next to his bed. She extended a hand and ran it through his hair, damp from fever. He made a small sound at the contact but didn’t move. John stood back, not quite sure of what to do. 

“How’d you know where he was?” He asked quietly. “He’s practically my brother. I don’ know what I woulda done if he died.” He paused “don’t tell him I said that. He’s just poke fun.” 

Penny looked at him with clear eyes. “You all really care about each other, don’t you. This ain’t like no gang I’ve ever met before.” 

John nodded and cracked a thin smile “Yeah we really do. We have our differences, but we help each other no matter what.”

Penny looked back at Arthur, still motionless on the bed. “It was just dumb luck that I found him. I’ve been hidin from the O’Driscolls myself. Was at the stable in Emerald ranch gettin my horse shod when two ‘a those bastards walked in.”

She grabbed a wet rag from the water bucket next to her and dabbed Arthur’s brow. “I hear them bragging’ about a big take down they did. Got Dutch’s right hand they said. It had to be him. The way he talked about Dutch” She smoothed Arthur’s hair back thoughtfully. “I’ve had my run ins with Colm O’Driscoll before. I know what he’s capable of when he’s riled. In my experience the worse you done him, the worse it is for you.” 

She reached down and folded her fingers around Arthur’s hand. Gently rubbing circles on the back of his hand. “What was I supposed to do? Just leave him to his death? That ain’t my way Mr Marston.”

John moved towards her sat down on a stool next to her “How’d you know where he was?” He was enraptured by her story. 

She laughed “ A woman has her ways. Them O’Driscoll boys don’t get much female attention, and most of them ain’t real smart. Sometimes all you need to do is open an extra shirt button and they stop paying attention to your face. Very helpful for someone in my position. I’d rather my face not be remembered by the likes of them. It takes very little to loosen lips. I was lookin for a rematch with Colm anyhow after the … hospitality… he showed me when we last met.”

“So that’s who your runnin’ from. Arthur didn’t mention.” 

“Among others, but Colm raised my ire most recently. He don’t treat his guests well.” 

John looked at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eye. He saw a tear slid down her cheek, which she wiped away with her free hand. “Jesus Ms Blair… what’d that bastard do to you?” 

“It don’t matter. It’s done. Best thing I can is make sure others don’t suffer at his hands. That, and I want to be there when he draws his last breath. I realize there’s a line up of those who want to kill him. But I want to be there to see the light fade from his eyes. Want to watch him meet the devil.” 

John let out a slow breath “Ma’am, you got a streak of vengeance in you. Remind me to stay on your good side.” 

“I ain’t some soft damsel John Marston. I’ve been on my own for a long damn time.” 

* * *

Javier returned several hours later with Penny’s things strapped to his horse. 

“I think we got everything Ms. Blair.” He handed her the battered guitar case and she smiled at him.

“Thank you Mr Escuella. That was very kind of you. I think I might be up for that duet tonight after all.” Javier helped bring her things over to the tent that Dutch had freed up for her to use. 

Penny opened her saddlebags and pulled out a change of shirt. John recognized it as the forest green button down she had dressed him in on the mountain. Then she set to work scrubbing the bloodstains from her white shirt and jacket. 

She spoke little for the remainder of the day. Spending most of her time at Arthur’s side. She was plucking at her guitar and singing softly when John brought her a bowl of stew in the evening. 

“I don’t know that tune.” he said, handing her the steaming bowl.

She shrugged. “Just something I’ve been working on.” she replied. 

“Javier’s gonna hold you to that promise of a duet.” he said teasingly. “We ain’t had another decent musician around since I don’t remember when.” 

“Thank you John.” she said quietly. 

“What for.”

“For just letting me be. For listening today.” she stood and stepped towards him. “You seem like a good man. I’m glad you fell into my lap on the mountain.” She hugged him, and kissed his cheek lightly.

* * *

She played with Javier around the fire later that evening. Their two guitars singing in tandem, filling the night air with sound. The camp was happy. Dutch smiled and tipped his hat to Penny. After a while, she departed the fire. John followed a ways behind her. He saw her stop at Arthur’s tent and kneel to press a kiss to his forehead. She stroked his hair and whispered something that he couldn’t hear before standing and striding off. 

She left quietly that night. Disappearing into the gloom of the forest on her dapple grey mare. When the camp woke the next day, it was as though she had never been there. The only sign that she wasn’t an apparition was a small folded piece of paper on Arthur’s bedside table. His name was written on the front in a tight, neat hand. 

Arthur finally roused the next day. It was still several days until he was up and about on his own, and several weeks after that until he was fit enough to leave camp. He carried her note in his pocket, opening and reading it often. 

“A, 

I regret that our most recent meeting had to occur under such poor circumstances, but I trust you will recover well in the care of your family. You are truly lucky to be surrounded by those who love and care for you. 

I regret that I could not stay until you were back on your feet, but I have no intentions of inserting myself into a gang war. I hope that you can find Colm and gut him, though if you take too long, I may be inclined to do it myself. I plan to stay out of his sight for some time now though, there's no wisdom is throwing stones at an angry hornets nest. Perhaps I'm ready for a change of scenery for a while.

I hope that the next time we meet will be free from any life threatening injuries. I have unfinished business with you, Cowboy. 

Best wishes, 

P.

P.S : Tell Javier he plays well."


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur takes a vacation of sorts. Penny opens up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of past sexual/physical abuse. 
> 
> Spoiler warning for the jack hall gang treasure I guess?
> 
> serious angst, following by smut.

When Arthur was well enough to ride again, he went to Dutch. 

“I need to get out for a while. Clear my head. I’m gonna head north for a bit. Got a few odd jobs to round out.” Dutch had clapped on the shoulder and nodded 

“Arthur, you work harder than any of us. You enjoy yourself for a few days. Just bring us back something to eat.” 

He packed up his horse. He finally named the mare. Athena. It suited her. She was strong and fast, always seemed to know where to find him. 

He’d come across a treasure map on a recent hunting trip which had piqued his curiosity. It was just an excuse to get out of camp really, and he needed a change from the swamps of Lemoyne

He had plotted a course North, crossing the Dakota river and heading up into the hills. The map referenced a geyser field, and he only knew of one in the region, so he was fairly certain of where to head.

He had spent some time in the East Grizzlies the the past. The narrow winding paths felt comforting. This was country he could lose himself in. Arthur preferred the jagged skylines of the mountains to the swamps of Lemoyne. This landscape was one where a man could breath freely, still largely unaffected by the slow grind of civilization. 

It took a few days to ride North. He wasn’t in a particular hurry, enjoying the silence and stillness of time spent alone. He found himself talking to his horse, telling stories to the animal. He stopped often to sketch in his journal. John teased him mercilessly about the little notes and doodles he made in his leather bound book, but Arthur found a certain peace in recording his thoughts. 

His shoulder was still stiff where he had been shot, but the wound had healed well all things considered. He stretched as he jumped down from his horse, massaging at his shoulder. 

He’d never visited these geysers before, the stories he’d heard hadn’t fully done the area justice. Vivid coloured waters dotted the ground in steaming pools. The air was heavy with sulfur. He sat and watched the water works for a while. The regular blasts of water shooting from the ground seemed like a ballet of sorts. It was nature that you could set a clock to. 

After a time, he ambled across the geyser field, pulled out his map and located the area that matched up with the chicken scratch drawing. He eventually found his quarry. Some trinkets, a few dollars, and yet another map. He folded the map and stowed it in his satchel. Mumbling to himself about the “damn overprotective Hall gang… Ain’t one treasure stash good enough. Gotta make a man run all over the damn country.” He whistled for his horse, and when she trotted up to him, he took a moment to give her a good brushing. The trail dust had dulled her normally shiny white coat. 

The sun was hanging low in the sky, just about ready to dip behind the mountains when Arthur decided to set camp. He’d left the geysers a few hundred meters behind. Far enough away that the sulfur smell had diminished, but he could still hear the occasional whoosh of the water as it surged from the earth. He hummed a little to himself while pitching his tent. He gathered some fallen branches and built a small fire. It was a clear night, with only the whisper of a breeze. “You OK over there girl” he called to his horse. She nickered in response and went back to eating grass. “Yeah you’re alright girl.” he ran his fingers through is hair. “Nice to be outta camp for a bit. Things is feelin’ weird.” The horse snorted “I don’t know how to explain. Just…. Like a storm about to hit.” he let out a heavy sigh and stared out at the stars. 

“You always have conversations with your horse, or did you hit your head since I last saw you.” 

Arthur cracked a thin smile, his gaze still on the heavens “You followin’ me Ms Blair?”

“I might ask you the same thing Mr Morgan.”

He sat up and looked out across the fire, to see her walking into the pool of light from the dense thicket of trees. 

She squatted down next to the fire and spread her hands out, catching the warmth from the flames. “There’s a whole lotta country out here, and yet I keep finding the same wayward cowboy. Can’t be a coincidence.”

Arthur gave a small chuckle. “I happen to be on...a… vacation… I suppose. Ain’t nothin wayward about it. I might ask what you’re doin’ here.” he raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Why Mr. Morgan, I came here to take the waters” She put on a false St Denis accent and batted her eyelashes. “All well bred ladies know, that hot spring water is an imperative for one’s health.”

“What in the hell are you talkin’ about lady” Arthur laughed.

“Upper Cotorra Springs.” she said brightly, her usual accent returned. “It’s a natural wonder. A lovely place to relax, and not a bad place to hide either. It’s too far up the mountain for most people to worry about. Folk know about the lower springs, but the upper ones are really worth a visit. They’re smaller, but much more… private… less prying eyes so to speak.”

“Seems like a lotta work for a hot bath. You know you can just pay for one in town right?” he teased “And I wouldn’a pegged you for some fancy society lady.”

“I’ve got layers Mr Morgan.” She said darkly. “Of that I can assure you.”

“I think I might like to hear about some a those layers.” He caught her eye across the fire “If you’re inclined to share of course.” 

“Hmmmm.” she said. “Perhaps. We’ll see Mr Morgan. In the mean time, would you be so kind as to let me share your fire? I spent a might longer than intended on the trail and haven’t set anything up yet.”

He smiled widely. “By all means, more’n enough space for both of us.” She gave a trilling whistle, and a moment later her horse walked slowly into the clearing. She unfastened her bed roll from her saddle and lay in on the ground near his, before joining him at the fire. 

They roasted a bit of meat from Arthur’s satchel, and she procured a bottle of gin from her saddlebag. They ate in companionable silence and she raised her glass to him “To your recovery Mr Morgan. It seems that you’ve healed well.”

“I didn’t have a chance to thank you Ms Blair. It was really quite the thing you did for me. Seems like you are mighty quick to help strangers in need.”

She looked into his eyes, her gaze warm. “I like to think I’m a good judge of character Mr Morgan. You seem like the sort that would do the same.”

“I ain’t a good man Ms Blair.”

“So you keep saying. I’ve known bad men Mr Morgan. Believe me when I tell you that whatever notion you got in your head about being a bad person, you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

She sat next to Arthur on a fallen log, resting her elbows against her knees. They were quiet for some time. The geyser went off in the distance. A crackle from the fire.

“I was married.” she said suddenly, eyes on the fire. Arthur’s gaze turned to her. “Blair was my mothers maiden name. I took her name after… well… guess i should start at the beginning.” She stared into the fire, composing her thoughts.

She swallowed thickly. “Daddy had some money, but had aspirations of having a whole lot more. He’d always hoped that my brother would be his road to riches, but Samuel turned out to be about as useless as you could imagine. He gambled away anything he was given, had no mind for business, and spent all his time between cards and whores.” 

She lit a cigarette, the red glowing end illuminating her lips and nose, giving her a haunted look. She was staring into the fire. She sat still as a statue, the smoke from her cigarette curling around her fingers.

“I guess eventually Daddy decided that if Samuel wasn’t going to be his golden goose, I would have to be. We lived in Chicago. I grew up big city. Prep schools, etiquette lessons, corsets, expensive governess, the whole nine yards. Daddy tried to turn me into some kinda starched Chicago princess to attract a suitor. Never really was that sorta girl though. Kept sneaking out as a kid and coming back with dirt on my face and twigs in my hair.” She gave a small nostalgic laugh “Never was one to do what I was told. Don’t think Daddy ever liked me. After Momma passed away, he would barely tolerate being in the same room as me. Kept saying I needed to be broken. Like an unruly horse. There was this industry feller that had a son, few years older than me, but close enough. Daddy came up with some sorta plan where he was gonna get in good with the industry man, but he needed to get in as family. Daddy got it all lined up that I was to marry this man I’d never met to ‘secure the family future’. It was a double benefit to him, got me outta his hair, and made him richer than god at the same time.”

“Man sold his own daughter for stake in a company?” Arthur mumbled incredulously. “ I’ve known some downright awful parents, hell, my pa wasn’t no saint… but still…”

Penny still gazed into the fire with a thousand yard stare. She drew on the cigarette again. Pausing to release a plume of smoke before continuing. “It was bad from the get go. Archibald was not a good man. Turns out he had a reputation for slapping girls around, but he was rich and handsome so folk just pretended it wasn’t there. I was scared on our wedding night.” 

She paused and stayed silent for a long while, before swallowing thickly and continuing “It was hell. Every day was hell. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it. Kept me in the house. Didn’t let me talk to anyone. Daddy could tell. I know he could. But he got his stack of cash and his membership to the country club so he left me with that monster.” 

Arthur let out a long exhale. His hands itching to hold hers. To tell her… he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to tell her… that she was safe with him? That he would protect her?

“I got pregnant 3 years into the marriage.” She continued “Lost the baby a few months in. I hadn’t even stopped bleeding when he grabbed me. Started shaking me. Saying I did it on purpose.” 

Arthur can see a shiny tear welling in the corner of her eye. She brushes it away before continuing.”

“That was it for me. I grabbed his revolver off his belt and shot a hole in his head. Then five more for good measure. Had a hole in his skull so big you could stick your whole hand in.” She took a final draw on the cigarette and tossed the butt into the fire. 

“Jesus Penny…” Arthur started but he stopped himself. 

“I ran like hell. Ran out of the city that night. Didn’t even have shoes on. Covered in blood, wild hair, torn night gown. It must have been quite the sight. Managed to hock the jewelry that I was wearing and bought some clothes and boots. Been running since. That was about a year and half ago. Didn’t even make the papers. You’d think Leviticus Cornwall’s kid being murdered by his wife would be newsworthy, but apparently not.”

“Leviticus Cornwall” Arthur said softly “ shit…” he tried to find words to finish his sentence and failed. 

“The upside of it staying outta the papers is there is no official bounty on me. The downside is that if I’m caught, I ain’t gonna see the inside of a jail cell. Old Cornwall’ll want to deal with me himself. The man is a sadist. Makes Colm O’Driscoll look like a puppy dog.”

Arthur had no words. He shifted closer to her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her. He felt a damp spot grow on his chest, where her face was resting as she was wracked with silent sobs. “Let it out Penny. S’okay”, he rubbed soothingly at her back. She made a small trembling sound. He pulled her legs across his lap and rocked her back and forth gently. One of his hands smoothed her hair away from her face, and then wiped her tears away. 

“I ain’t talked about it to anyone before.” She said, her voice wavering. “Ain’t been close to anyone since it happened.”

“That’s a hell of a tale Ms. Blair.” He said softly into her hair. “If it hadn’t ended with you killin the bastard I would have ridden out right now to do it for you.” 

He held her for a long time. Eventually her sobs stilled and she drifted to sleep in his arms. He lifted her down and lay her on her bedroll, scooting his own right next to her, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her. It took Arthur a long time to fall asleep, staring up at the dark canvas of the tent, listening to Penny's steady breathing next to him. 

* * *

When Arthur woke, Penny was curled into his chest, and he had an arm slung protectively across her back. He could feel small puffs of breath through the fabric of his shirt. He stayed still, not wanting to wake her, not wanting the moment to end. It was just barely sunrise. The air was still cool, and the clearing was basked in the pink of early morning light. He absentmindedly ran her tips of his fingers along her spine, tracing the lines of her through her shirt. She stirred , making small sounds of comfort. He felt her hand begin to travel along his arms, skimming across the hair on his exposed forearm. 

“Mornin’” he whispered into her hair.

“Mornin’ to you Mr Morgan.”

“Please… it’s Arthur.”

“If you say so.” she tilted her head to look at him, stretching up, she placed a soft kiss on his lips.

He looked her in the eye, brushed a hand across the loose hair on her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. 

“Arthur Morgan, you do so know how to make a lady feel safe.”

He kissed her. It felt right. Like coming home. She wound her fingers into his hair and leaned into the kiss. 

“Penny” he breathed. 

“Arthur” she breathed back. 

He held her close, fingers caressing the curve of her hip, skimming along the hem of her shirt, which had come untucked in the night. She traced the line of the scar on his chin, traversed her finger tips over the line of his jaw, twirling his shaggy hair around her index. 

They stayed like this for some time, until hunger got the better of them. Penny lit the fire, and Arthur reheated some of the game meat from the previous night. 

Arthur rubbed absentmidedly at his shoulder while he ate. 

“Still hurts?” Penny asked

“A bit.” Arthur nodded. “More stiff than anything.”

“You know, I wasn’t kidding about those hotsprings. They do wonders for the body.” She said.

“I think that sounds like a fine idea.” Arthur replied with a smile. 

The sun had risen but the air had a chill. The overcast sky left little doubt that the chill would remain all day. 

They packed up their camp and saddled up the horses. Penny led them down the road a few minutes before turning off onto a narrow game trail. “It’s a bit of a climb” she shouted to him, “but I promise it’ll be worth it. 

They ambled up the hillside, weaving between trees and boulders. Penny whistled a tune as they went. Arthur soaked in the fresh air and the weak rays of sun that broke through the clouds. Eventually their climb plateaued into a hanging valley. They walked the horses to the back of the valley, eventually breaking out of the trees into a small clearing. There was a small waterfall descending from a cavern mouth, with a pool of steaming water at its base. 

Penny dismounted from her horse and turned to Arthur with a smile “Welcome to upper cottora springs Mr Morgan.”

It was picturesque, the steam from the springs hung in the valley like a veil, a soft breeze rustled the tree branches nearby. Penny hitched her horse to a nearby tree. “Well c’mon then, lets soak away those worries. She stepped towards the spring, and sat to remove her boots. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “I...ummmm… I ain’t tryin to be fresh Ms Blair, but it don’t seem like there’s much chance for privacy up here.”

“You might not be tryin’ to be fresh Mr Morgan, but I most certainly am.” she smiled at him and looked up from hooded eyes. Her fingers began to undo the buttons on her blouse slowly, almost teasingly. “You ain’t going swimming in all them clothes cowboy.” She stepped towards him, and her fingers reached up to the top button of his overshirt. “Let me help you with that.”

She deftly unfastened first one button, then the next, slowly trailing her hands down his chest as she went. He shivered under her touch. She coaxed the shirt off his shoulders and started in on the buttons of his union suit. Slowly the thin cotton fabric parted to reveal the plains of his chest underneath. 

She pushed the fabric off his shoulders, leaving him bare chested before her. She traced her fingers across his chest, over the still-angry looking mark he’d gained under Colm’s care, over old scars. She skimmed her fingers down his shoulder, across his forearm, to his hands, twinning her fingers into his. “You can touch me Arthur.” she whispered. “If you’re so inclined.”

He took a quavering breath. His hand rose tentatively to her blouse and he opened a button with a snapping motion. Another. And another. She raised a hand and caressed his cheek “Didn’t think a big bad outlaw like you would be so gentle.” 

“I don’t wanna hurt you Penny.”

“Never said I was complaining.” She smiled at him “Just… I don’t know… surprised is all.” She reached up and kissed him gently on the cheek. Then stepped away suddenly with a mischievous look in her eye. She deftly unfastened her belt, shucked her remaining clothes and slipped into the spring, leaving Arthur half dressed on the shore. 

“C’mon cowboy, I’m sure you’ve bathed before, you know how this part works.” She floated on her back, her hair floating around her like a halo. She turned to face him, eyeing him hungrily. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna bite.”

Arthur fumbled with his boots and trousers, awkwardly divesting himself of his clothing. He stood for a moment on the shoreline, suddenly aware that his cock was at full mast. “Oh Ms Blair, the things you do to me.” he rumbled.

She gave a satisfied humm “My dear Mr Morgan, you’d make better women than me swoon. Fine from top to bottom.” She raked her gaze over him.

He stepped into the water, the warmth engulfing him. He gave a low groan. “You weren’t kidding about the water. This is some treat.”

He sank down, covering himself to his chest. He floated towards her and found a rock to sit on, stretching his legs out in front of him. 

“Now,” Penny said in a low voice. “This here is a full service bathhouse sir. Might I offer you a deluxe bath this morning.”

“That sounds mighty fine Ma’am. Not too often I avail myself of such luxuries.”

“Now,” she said, adopting a sultry voice “I’m rather new in this establishment, you’ll forgive me if I don’t know the particulars of exactly what a ‘deluxe bath’ all entails.”

She floated to sit beside him.

“Well,” he started slowly “fella like me comes in, caked in road dirt, and some pretty young thing comes and gives him some much needed assistance with the scrubbing.” 

“And what exactly would you like scrubbed today sir?”

“Mmmm… arms is good for starters.”

She ran her hands over his left arm, tracing circles with her finger tips, repeating the process with the right. She moved her hands to lay flat on his chest, brushing over the course thatch of hair on his pectorals. He let out a contented rumble.

“Legs need scrubbin too darlin’?” she asked.

“Mmmm I suppose they do. She floated down to his feet, and lifted one leg in her hands. Slowly, painfully slowly, she worked her way up his calf, to his knee, teasing circles on his thigh. She shifted herself in between his legs, her fingers brushing ever higher on his thigh. She stared him right in the eye. “Anything else need cleaning…  _ sir. _ ” he didn’t respond, just let out a shuddering breath. She gave him a wicked smile and brushed the back of her hand against his throbbing cock. He exhaled sharply. “Jesus woman you’ll be the death of me.”

“I certainly hope not cowboy, I’m just getting started with you.” She wrapped his fingers around his shaft and gave a slow tug, massaging at the tip with her dexterous fingers. That was it for Arthur, he surged forward and captured her in a kiss, bringing her into his lap. He pulled her flush against his chest, trapping his cock between them. He kissed her deeply, licking fervently into her mouth. She responded in kind, gyrating her hips against him and tanging a hand in his wet hair

“Is this still part of the typical deluxe bath service?” she teased.

“Oh, no Ma’am, we left that behind a while ago.”

His hands caressed her back, mapping out the lines of her. He didn’t want to let her go, he bucked his hips up, seeking by friction on his swollen cock, trapped between their bodies. They were seated in the shallows of the spring, the hot water making the air around them pleasantly steamy. 

She pulled away slightly, and her eyes flashed seductively. Slowly, she kissed her way down his chest, nipping at him as she went. She trailed her hands down. She seated herself between his knees and wrapped a firm hand around the base of his cock , teasing at his balls with her fingers and started placing little kitten licks on his shaft. In all his years, Arthur had. Never had a woman touch him like this. He shivered and groaned under her touch. He almost saw star when she took him fully into her mouth, swallowing around him, her fingers pressing just behind his balls. She drew him in and out of her mouth slowly, laving at the head of his prick with her tongue. The heat from her mouth was intoxicating. 

“Penny…” he gasped. “I ain’t gonna last.” 

She withdrew slowly, trailing her hands back up his torso, bringing her head level with his. 

“It’s been awhile.” he breathed. “I ain’t ready for this to be over just yet.”

With a swift movement, her flipped her over,pressing his chest to hers, and lay his body out between her legs. “May I return the favour?” he breathed. “I don’t pretend to be an expert or nothin’, but woman, I wanna taste you”

“Arthur you are by far the most polite outlaw I’ve ever encountered.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Arthur, yes, touch me however you like.”

That was all he needed to hear, he pushed himself down with a growl and brought his mouth to her sex, laving his toungue at the sensitive bud. He’d never tried this himself, but had once overheard Karen and Mary-Beth talking about it while drunk around camp. 

Slowly he pushed one broad finger into her, continuing the small licks, burying his face into her. She made a small groan and her head fell back in ecstasy. He worked the digit in and out as her breathing grew ragged. “Arthur… Oh Arthur… I need you.”

“You got me darlin’”

“Need you inside me.” 

He let out a low growl and crawled his way back up her body, sliding his blood hot cock long her leg as he went. 

“What was that darlin’?”

“I. Need. You. Inside.” she nearly shouted.

He slid into her slowly. She was tight and hot and felt like heaven. He let out a shuddering breath as he fully sheathed himself inside her, and then began moving, thrusting in and out with deep rolls of his hips. She clung to him, her nails making half moon divots in his shoulders. He captured her in another deep kiss, and he moaned into her mouth. It felt to him like they were the only two people on earth. 

He wanted the moment to last forever, but the heat in his loins drove him to increase the pace of his thrusts, chasing his high. She peaked with a wailing moan and he followed her off the brink moments later, cumming deep inside her, he cock twitching and he lay panting on top of her. 

He rolled to the side and she curled up to his chest. Looking deeply into his eyes and playing with the hair around his temple. 

“My lord Arthur Morgan, I think you may have ruined me for all other men.”

They lay in the spring until Arthur’s skin had pruned. Penny massaged his shoulder, and he returned the favour by working the knots out of her neck. They kissed, and sat together in a tangle of limbs. Neither wanting to leave the bubble of the spring, both knowing that the real world and their real problems still lay before them. 

* * *

“Come with me.” he said quietly, once they had left the water and dressed. “Please.” his gaze was soft. “Ain’t…. I ain’t felt this way about anyone before.” It was true, not even Mary had elicited this sort of feeling in him. He didn’t know how to describe it. 

She gaze him a sad look. “You know I can’t Arthur. Not yet. I know your man Dutch has beef with Ol’ Cornwall, but I don’t want to be leverage in anyones fight.”

“Ride with me a few days at least?”

She nodded.

They rode south together, taking their time, stopping for camp early each evening. Arthur would sidle up behind her once the horses were hitched and wrap his arms around her, like he was trying to keep her from disappearing, like he needed reassurance that she was flesh and blood, and not a ghost. 

They made love each night. It really felt like that. Making Love. Not fucking, not the carnal acts that the other men at camp cracked jokes about while drunk. It felt like he was leaving a piece of himself with her each time, and that she was giving a piece of herself in return. 

They parted ways a little north of Valentine. 

“Where you headin’?” he asked in a low voice. 

She hummed. “I ain’t rightly sure yet. Probably best you don’t know anyway.”

“If you want to find me, just send a letter…. Address it to Tacitus Kilgore. It’ll find it’s way to me.”

“I ain’t done with you Cowboy.” she said fondly. “We’ll see each other again.”

They parted with a kiss, long, slow and full of hope. He watched her ride off East, and felt like his heart went with her. 

He was quiet when he returned to camp. He brought back some game meat, which made Pearson happy. That night he withdrew from the fire and sat on his cot. John found him while he was scribbling in his journal. 

“How was the trip?” John asked

Arthur grunted “Fine I suppose.” he didn’t look up. 

“You seem a little off Morgan.”

Arthur sighed “Saw her again.”

“That woman’s got you tied up in knots don’t she?”

“You don’t know the half of it Marston.”


	5. A Patron of the Arts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur meets an artist. The artist describes his new muse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter wherein Arthur makes a new friend. More to come soon. 
> 
> I really love the side quests with Charles Chatenay :)

_ My Dear Mr Kilgore,  _

_ First, allow me to apologize for the length of time it has taken me to write to you. Believe me when I say it is not from lack of want. This past month has seen me travel far from the civilized world. If you remember the place we first met, you may be able to picture my home for the past several weeks, though I admit it is warmer in this season.  _

_ My darling father had a chance to visit with me in New Hanover, but he has since been dispatched back to Chicago. I admit, he was reluctant to leave, but I believe I was effective in convincing him to go. His visits do tax me, and I felt the need to clear my head some when I was free of him. _

_ I write this letter in the comfort of a log cabin inhabited by a kind old fellow up in the mountains. He welcomed me in without a second thought, though I do feel somewhat guilty for interrupting his peaceful retirement. Hamish is his name. He’s a great story teller and wonderful company. He lost his leg in the war, but he gets on very well out here. Gives me hope that one can continue on having lost so much of themselves. Should you find yourself in Ambarino, I would recommend meeting him. He’s a fine hunter, and brews a strong cup of coffee. _

_ I plan to mail this letter from Annesburg. I have never been, but I have heard it’s a foul town. Unfortunately it’s the nearest piece of civilization between here and my destination. I find myself heading south for a change. I believe the warmer air in the south will do me good, and I have an old friend to look in on. I don’t hold out much hope that we will stumble upon each other, but I admit that I would relish the opportunity to see you again.  _

_ I do hope this letter finds you, and that you and your family are still healthy and whole.  _

_ Yours,  _

_ P _

_ P.S: Wish cousin Jim well for me.  _

* * *

Arthur read and re-read the letter. Over and over… Heading south, she’d said. How far south did she mean? His heart leapt at the idea that she might also be in Lemoyne. Perhaps even in St Denis. 

He had no way to write her back. He didn’t know where he would send a letter to, or who he would address it to for that matter. 

He was distracted by thoughts of her for the next several days. On a whim he rode into St Denis under the excuse of having errands to run. He had a few letters to post, and needed to see a decent gunsmith about servicing his rifles. He walked his horse slowly through the city. He didn’t much care for St Denis. The crowded streets made riding difficult and the air felt foul and heavy with the smells of too many people in too small a space. 

The day was grey as he rode in. It was a long enough ride from Shady Belle that he planned on spending the night. He secured a room at the saloon, stopped in at the barber’s, and even made a run to the nearby tailor shop to pick up some new clothing. He opted for a crisp white shirt, red paisley vest and pressed black trousers. It was a little more refined than his usual sartorial choice, but with all that had gone on in recent weeks, Arthur felt like indulging himself a little. 

* * *

He stopped at a run down saloon in the seedier part of town for a drink. There were a few patrons at the bar when he walked into the low lit room. Unlike the bright clean saloon where he was staying, this space was dim, dusty, and smelled strongly of spilled liquor. There was a small man speaking animatedly to the bar keeper. He had a well oiled moustache and spoke with a strong french accent. He gesticulated wildly, nearly smacking Arthur in the face as he tried to get the bartender’s attention. 

“Watch yourself there partner.” Arthur grumbled. 

“Ah my deepest apologies Monsieur. Please, Let me buy you a drink.”

“That’s might kinda you mister.” replied Arthur, as he settled in at the bar. 

The little Frenchman introduced himself as Charles Chatenay, apparently a painter of some renown.

Arthur found him to be a good conversationalist, although he understood little of what the man was talking about. 

“I ain’t exactly a real ‘art’ guy to be honest.”

“Oui but even an unrefined philistine such as yourself can understand the emotion, the meaning, the purpose of the arts, non?”

Arthur shrugged.”I suppose.”

“The arts…. The arts are about passion, about pain, about…. LOVE…”

Arthur huffed a laugh “Pain and love tend to go hand in hand in my experience.”

“Ah he hides the soul of a poet beneath this dusty veneer. C’est Bon…. It’s settled then, you’ll come to my studio and we shall drink to the pain of love.”

* * *

Arthur had developed a bit of a buzz at this point and followed Charles out into the now darkened streets of the city. They made their way a few blocks from the saloon, and stumbled up the stairs to Charles’ second floor studio. The space was sparsely furnished, a narrow bed, and a table with a single chair was all that filled the living space. Most of the apartment was dedicated to studio space, and full to bursting with canvases, paints, and other supplies. Several easels displayed half finished works. 

Charles muttered to himself in french while extracting a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen cabinet. 

He poured a generous dram into a glass for Arthur and filled one for himself as well. “Well my new friend, let us toast to art and the pain of love.”

Arthur raised his glass in a toast and knocked back his drink. 

“So what is it you paint Mr Chatenay?”

“Why the naked human spirit my friend, Humanity at Its most basic, it’s most raw.”

Arthur looked around at the canvases and huffed laugh. “Naked spirit? Looks like a buncha naked ladies more like.”

“Oui, sometimes the spirit is reflected in the human form itself.”

Charles poured him another glass. “Sometimes though, “ he continued “Sometimes, the spirit seeps beyond the nakedness of the form. Look at this one my friend, she is not yet finished, but still you can see her soul looking from the page, non?”

He pulled a small sheet of paper from a nearby easel and pushed it in front of Arthur. It was a portrait of a woman from the bust up.Her features were sharp, her gaze severe. She wore a simple rough spun overshirt with several buttons open, her hair hanging in two neat braids, framing her sharp features. Arthur felt like she was staring at him from the page, like her presence filled the room despite the small size of the paper she was drawn on. 

“Not my usual fare I admit” continued the painter “But she is something else, non? Hold your critiques on the execution, she is not yet complete. I await another session with her.”

“You know her? ‘sides the painting I mean.” Arthur asked. Inebriated as he was, he felt a stir of familiarity as he looked at the portrait. 

“Oh my friend she has a tragic tale. One that requires more drink. Truly those worthy of great works carry tragedy inside.” Charles topped up both of their glasses. “She is not the delicate flower she first appeared. She is Desdemona, she is Lavinia.” He flourished his arms as he spoke, spilling whiskey on the floor as he did. 

“I don’ understand a word you’re saying friend.” Arthur shook his head

Charles grabbed Arthur by the face and stared into his eyes “She is the tragic woman, Her life, a mystery, her past a battle ground. We can never know her. Not truly. She us unknowable. These other women.” he gestured to the myriad of other painting in the studios. “ Beautiful, Oui, but they all have a young girl inside of them, trying to break free. She,” he stabbed a finger at the half finished painting. “She does not. Non, someone has taken that girl and killed her. She is woman, pure and visceral. Like Eve having been cast from the garden” he finished his sentence with a flourish and slumped in his chair. “Never have a met such a woman before, and I doubt I shall again.”

“I think I know her.” Said Arthur softly.

“Mon Ami, none of us can know her.”

“No, not like that… I think I recognize the lady you ‘bin painting. I’ve seen her face before.”

“You know Madame Blair?”

Arthur faltered. He had felt a stirring familiarity in the painting, but Chales had confirmed it “Penny, yeah I know her. Helluva woman.”

“Truly you have the brevity of a poet monsieur.”

With that Charles passed out, with his head on the table. Arthur spent several minutes looking a the portrait of Penny. Her green eyes practically burned out of the paper. Charles had been right. She was unlike any woman Arthur had ever met. He had known women of tragedy. Sadie came to mind. She was tortured by the memory of past happiness. She’d become a ghost in her pain. Penny seemed to have never known happiness. Had never known freedom until she had slain her husband. She had lived as a prisoner, and had shed her shackles through sheer force of will, and in doing so had freed the woman that her family had kept down for so many years. Like Charles had said, she had no girl inside her. That girl had died with her husband, had died in the past. 

Arthur slipped out while Charles slept, locking the door behind him when he went. He returned to his rented room at the saloon. He stared at the ceiling for a long time before drifting into a fitful sleep. 

* * *

He woke early the next morning with a pounding headache. After rousing himself and splashing some water on his face he gathered his things and headed out into the bright light of the day. He wandered to the post office to send a few packages and then to the gunsmith to have his guns looked at. Around midday he rode aimlessly through town, as if trying to make up his mind. All of a sudden he spurred his horse and changed direction, heading back towards Charles’ studio. He hitched his mount on the street in front of the small apartment and slowly made his way up the stairs. 

Arthur paused at the door, smoothing his hair back, his hat in his hand. He rapped on the door and waited. 

Nearly a minute passed before the little frenchman opened the door. “Oui?” he asked “What do you want?” it took him a moment before he recognized Arthur “Ahhh, Mon Ami, a pleasure to see you again. How might I be of service?”

“I don’ mean to intrude,”Arthur started. “ but that woman you were painting. Do you know where I might find her.”

“Why my friend I fear you have just missed her. She came early this morning to finish the sitting. She is gone with the finished work.”

Arthur cursed under his breath. “ She didn’t give an address? Any way she could be contacted?”

“No I fear not. She is like an apparition. We cannot find her, she must find us.”

Arthur leaned heavily on the doorframe and let out a sigh. 

“Ahh my friend, you love her, non?”

Arthur sighed heavily. “I think I just might.”

He rode through St Denis at a walking pace, hoping that he might stumble across her in his travels. The day faded into dusk and he had found no sign of her. He had inquired at the saloon where he’d stayed the night before, at the post office, and in several other shops that he thought she might have visited with no success. It was as if she had vanished into this air. Eventually he left town heading back towards Shady Belle.

* * *

A week after he returned to camp, a letter arrived. 

_ My Dear Tacitus,  _

_ Since I wrote you last, I find myself in the city for a change of pace. I must admit that I somewhat abhor the crush of people in small spaces, but it is a necessary evil right now. I have made the acquaintace of a painter by the name of Monsieur Chatenay. He was kind enough to agree to paint me. I enclose the results of our session as a gift to you. I hope it is a good likeness. The painter has a reputation for salacious images, which this is most certainly not, but I believe he acquitted himself quite well.  _

_ I am not accustomed to having my likeness taken but I found the process to be somewhat therapeutic. Monsieur Chatenay is excellent company in addition to his skill with a brush. Do not be jealous though my dear, his skilled tongue was limited to the art of conversation despite his attempts otherwise. Apparently he has quite the reputation for questionable behaviour, but I found him to be heartily entertaining.  _

_ I remain in the city for the time being, in the company of an old friend. I do hope this letter finds you well.  _

_ Yours,  _

_ P _

_ P.S : You may address correspondence to Elena Carthwright, St Denis Post office general delivery. It will find its way to me.  _


	6. A Society Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur writes a letter, and wears a suit. 
> 
> Reunions are had. 
> 
> Everything is very soft and lovely.

_ Dear Ms Carthwright,  _

_ I am very pleased to hear from you. I am familiar with the artist that you mentioned in your last letter and I am happy to hear that you are well. The Artist did a… _

“No… no… stupid…” Arthur grumbled to himself, balling up his third attempt at a letter. 

_ Dear Ms Carthwright,  _

_ I am so happy to have received.... _

“No… C’mon you idiot.” He sighed and looked over at his horse. “Why’s writin’ gotta be so hard?” The horse snorted in response. 

“Writing ain’t that hard Arthur.” He heard Mary-Beth approaching from behind him. “You just gotta let the words flow from your heart to your hand.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re a writer. Must come natural to you.” Arthur balled up another sheet of paper and hung his head.

“Oh come on now Arthur. It ain’t so bad. What are you working on? Maybe I could help?” She sat down next to him and smoothed out her skirt. 

He was quiet for a moment and then grunted in defeat “Ok...ok… maybe I could use some help.”

“This is about that gal you met isn’t it?. You’re sweet on her aren’t you?” Mary-Beth’s face lit up and a smile spread across her face. “Oooh Arthur I just knew it, the way you’ve been gazing out into space all romantic like. Who is she? When’d you see her last? What’s she like? You buy her flowers? She kiss you yet? Oooooh I bet she did, look at you blushin’...”

“Geez I regret askin’ for help already.” Arthur sighed and looked thoughtfully at the pencil in his hand. “She’s… she’s somethin’ else Mary-Beth. She’s smart, and beautiful, and… and… capable.” He smiled to himself. “Don’t go spreadin’ this around, y’hear.”

Mary-Beth crossed her heart and raised her hand “I won’t say a peep Arthur.”

He sighed again. “I aint never met a woman like her… y’know… she had a gun pointed at my head when we first met and all I could think about was how pretty she was. It’s stupid, I know.” he gave a small laugh, then his face went serious. “She saved John, she saved me, hell, she even saved herself from the sounds of it. I....I just don’t understand why she’s wasting her time on a miserable old bastard like me.”

Mary-Beth slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t you dare Arthur Morgan. Don’t you dare. You are one of the kindest, most genuine men I’ve ever met. If she has half the brains you say she does, she can see it clear as day.”

“She’s had a hard life. Been through terrible things. I just… I just want to be someone she deserves.”

“Was that letter yesterday from her?”

Arthur nodded in reply. “She sent me a portrait by an artist in St Denis.” he carefully pulled the portrait out from the pages of his journal. He’d stored it there partly so that he could look at it frequently, and partly so no one else could see it. He handed the paper to Mary-Beth and she made a soft cooing sound. 

“Oh Arthur, She’s beautiful.”

He hummed in assent. “ I ain’t one for words… but I think… Jesus… I think might love her Mary-Beth. Ain’t ever felt this way about anyone before.”

“Not even Mary?”

He let out a sigh “Not even Mary. Things with Mary was always… hard… like swimmin’ upstream. We never belonged together. But she… she just fits, like we was meant to find each other… I don’ know…” he trailed off

“Well,” Mary-Beth said slowly “Why don’t you tell her that.”

“Letter seems a bit impersonal. ‘Sides, I don’t know if she’ll ever get it. She moves around so much, It’s hard to believe that she even exists some days… like she’s a ghost, or a dream.”

“What’s her name?”

“Penny. But she goes by so many false names I can’t hardly keep ‘em straight. She’s goin’ by Elena Carthwright right now.”

“A woman of mystery...ooh this is so romantic I might just burst! Ok we have some good material to work with here Arthur. Hand over that paper…” she snatched a fresh sheet of paper from him and started scribbling away. She asked him questions at several intervals, and after about 10 minutes, she handed back a page-long letter.

“Here.” she declared. “Rewrite it in your own hand, but this is what she needs to hear.” Before he could say anything, she stood with a smile and walked back towards camp. 

Arthur read over the letter carefully and rewrote it in his neatest handwriting. He changed a few things from Mary-Beth’s work but left most of it. She had a way of getting his feelings across when he didn’t even understand them himself. 

_ My Dear Ms Carthwright,  _

_ Thank you for the portrait you so kindly sent me. I carry it with me everyday and looking at your face helps dampen the loneliness in my heart. I eagerly await the day that I might see you in person once again. Our time together has been so short but it has left an impact on me that I cannot hope to describe.  _

_ I fear we narrowly missed each other in St Denis. I had the fortunate opportunity to meet Monsieur Chatenay and in fact I was lucky enough to see this painting before it was finished. I regret that my timing was not better. I hope that you are still in the city and that we may once again meet. For now I moulder away in a long forgotten house in the swamp surrounded by my family, and several families of alligators. I will not provide details in case this letter does not reach you. _

_ My work will bring me into St Denis frequently in the coming days. I do not care for the city but I will happily go if it means that I might see you. Knowing that we may once again meet brings me joy in this cruel life. _

_ Yours,  _

_ A _

_ P.S: I admit I’m not one for flowery words and the like. One of the girls in camp helped me with the composition of this letter. Mary-Beth has a way of seeing through my bluster and translating it into poetry. She’s gonna be a real famous writer one day. _

Arthur read and re-read the letter. He rode into the post office in Rhodes and sent it that afternoon. When he returned to camp, Dutch shouted at him from the porch of the house “Arthur, I need to speak with you son, I’ve got a job for you.”

* * *

Dutch had been invited to, as he described it, a “soire” in town, hosted by the Mayor. 

Dutch, Bill, Hosea and Arthur all donned formal evening wear and arrived in town in a stolen carriage. Arthur scratched at the skin beneath his starched collar. “Do we really gotta do this Dutch? Ain’t nobody gonna believe that we belong in there.”

“C’mon Boys, enjoy the night. Eat, Drink, mingle, but don’t forget why we’re here. Dutch lectured. “We get in, get the information, and get out.”

Arthur grumbled to himself as they left the carriage in front of the Mayor’s sprawling estate. 

They had been invited to the event by Angelo Bronte. Arthur had no love for the man. He seemed as duplicitous as they came, and didn’t he understand why Dutch was entertaining the man at all. 

After being shown around the ground by Bronte, Arthur descending into the fray to mingle with guests. He wandered aimlessly through the grounds, listening carefully to the conversations of other guests. 

They managed to steal the information they had come for, and Arthur had made a few new acquaintances at the party, despite his best efforts otherwise. 

* * *

Arthur was walking through the streets of St Denis the day after the party, his head in the clouds, when he heard a voice call out. “Excuse me sir.” he turned to look and saw three men standing nearby, a slightly built fellow with large mutton chops, and two native fellows, a grave looking older man with the face of a someone who carried a great burden, and a young man, nearly a boy by the look of him. 

“Excuse me sir.” the man with the mutton chops said again. “But I believe we have met.”

Arthur paused for a moment, before walked closer “Evelyn Miller. Of course. Good to see you again sir.”

“You as well, Mr…”

“Morgan. Arthur Morgan… at least sometimes.” he gave a small laugh and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck self consciously. “What I can do for you gentlemen.”

Mr Miller introduced him to Rains Fall and his son Eagle Flies who were in town to petition the state government regarding land rights on the Wapiti reservation up North. He pitched Arthur on aiding them.

“I ain’t no do-gooder, gentlemen, I got problems of my own.” he sighed. Eagle Flies made a derisive comment. Arthur snapped back “Look son, I got a price on my head in two states. The government ain’t exactly a fan of mine neither.” he turned and started to walk away. “We can pay you.” called Rains Fall. Arthur paused. “Well then. Maybe we can talk.” They agreed to meet up later. Eagle Flies stared daggers at Arthur. He felt bad for the kid. He felt bad for his father too, but he couldn’t see how either of them would be able to make any headway in their plight, whether or not he helped. Cornwall had too much money and too much power. nevertheless, he shook hands with all three men as He bid them farewell before turning to walk away.

The doors behind the group of men opened. 

“What did they say?” he heard Evelyn ask expectantly.

“He said he’ll see you, but to be honest I wouldn’t trust a word out of that man’s mouth. He’s in Cornwall’s pocket. I can tell.” Arthur recognized the voice. He stopped, trying to will his body to turn around, but was frozen to the spot. 

“Thank you Ms Blair.” Rains fall said warmly. “At least the door has been opened. Even if the chances are slim, we must try.”

Arthur’s shoulders sagged. He slowly turned back towards the men. He stopped and stared. “Jesus” he whispered under his breath. 

Penny stood there in a long burgundy bustle skirt, with a matching jacket, buttoned high to her neck. He could see a starched white collar and sleeves peeping out from under the jacket. Her hair was pinned back in neat coils, and she had a small but ornate hat perched on the top of her head. “I really don’t know if I’ve helped at all, but I do hope that my presence has eased your way. 

“My dear If I hadn’t seen how you ride a horse in the past weeks this week, I’d think you the picture of a society lady.” said Rains Fall earnestly. “If nothing else the appearance of having wealth and favour in our corner will go a long way I think.” He grasped her hand in thanks. 

Penny smiled “Indeed, sometimes a grand illusion is what is needed. If you need me in the future, I’ll be there. Just tell me if I should pack my skirt or my spurs.” She quipped.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Ummm… hello… Ma’am.”

Penny looked up, midway through shaking Rains Fall’s hand. 

“Hello Cowboy.” she said with a smile. 

He took a step towards her. “You look…”

She laughed “Different I know. I told you I have layers. Have you been introduced?” she gestured to her companions. 

“Yeah… yeah we have…”

“Arthur here has just agreed to help us out.” interjected Mr Miller. 

Penny smiled warmly. “Well that’s a wonderful thing to hear.” 

Penny bade farewell to Rains Fall and Eagle Flies, patting the young man on the shoulder, and kissing the older on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon my friends.”

“Stay well my dear” Said Rains Fall, with a wave farewell.

The three men straightened their coats, and walked into the doorway that Penny had come through. Penny stepped daintily towards Arthur. 

“Why my dear Mr Callahan, I fear that it’s been far too long. Would you care to accompany me back to my lodgings?”

“Ms Carthwright, nothing in the world would make me happier.” he extended his arm towards her and she looped her hand around his elbow. “Ain’t safe for a lady to wander about unescorted in this town.”

“Mmmm, yes, I’ve heard there are all sorts of rabble around. Outlaws around every corner.” she said with a grin. 

* * *

She led Arthur through a few blocks of the city to an apartment block set on a small but well kept courtyard. It was nearing sundown as they ascended to the second floor, above a florist’s shop and Penny opened the door into a well appointed suite. They were barely inside the door when Arthur crowded her against the wall. 

“I got your letters.” he said quietly, leaning in to kiss at her neck. “I missed you.”

“Mmmmm I missed you too. More than you know.” she ran featherlight fingers across his back. “I got your letter too. Yesterday. You have quite the resident writer in camp it seems.”

Arthur purred against her. “I ain’t much for writin’… you deserve better words than I can give.”

Penny pressed herself away from Arthur for a moment, tracing a hand along his jawline. “Let me just look at you a moment.” she raked her gaze over him. “What a fella.” she sighed. “Though I must admit you cut a very dashing figure in that outfit of yours yesterday. I nearly gave myself away when I saw you walking down those stairs.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow “You were at that party? Seems a might bit risky don’t you think?”

“Evelyn needed me there. He’s a dear friend, and frightfully anxious in large gatherings like that. His campaign to help the Wapiti nation necessitates visits to the city.” she pulled him by the hand, drawing him into the living space “Besides, I was incognito. Even you didn’t recognize me.” She pushed him down to sit on the sofa and straddled his legs. 

Arthur let out a low growl “Wish I had. Think of the fun we coulda had at the Mayor’s expense.”

She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him into to her, rolling her hips as she did. “My dear Mr Kilgore, I think we can have just as much fun tonight.”

He kissed her deeply, running his hands over the back as she arched against him. They came apart panting, and he tried to make sense of the complicated buttons on her jacket. “Why do these fancy clothes gotta be so difficult to get into.” he mumbled as his large fingers fumbled with the delicate closures. 

“Slow down Cowboy.” Penny said seductively, rising to stand over him. “We’ve got all night.” she slowly opened the buttons on her jacket and shrugged it off her shoulders before starting in on her blouse. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she opened the buttons one by one until the garment hung loose around her shoulders, the curves of her breasts now visible through her thin chemise. She repeated the process with her skirts, sliding free of the restrictive garment, until she was standing before him in her corset and petticoat. Arthur reached up to run his fingers along the silk of her skirt. “Jesus.” he cursed. “You look like an angel.” he pulled her towards him until she was forced back onto his lap, her hands coming to rest on his broad chest. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Ain’t no other girls Ms Blair. No other girls in the whole damn world could compete with you.”

Her hands found the buttons of his overshirt and began opening them one by one until she could run her hands along his bare chest. 

He stood, lifting her easily with him. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he crossed the room, kissing her deeply, through the doorway and into the bedroom. 

They made love like they had done it a thousand times. Despite their short time together, they moved with such synchronicity. Penny came on his fingers, on his tongue, and with his cock buried deep inside of her. Penny touched places, and brought him pleasure like no other woman had. He lost count of how many times they each came. Each peak was better than the last. He wanted to live the rest of his life with her wrapped in his arms, wanted to forget about everything and life forever in that bed, in that place. They kissed and touched and spoke soft loving words until the dawn broke, the sun cutting into the room like an unwelcome guest. 

He lay there in the early morning light, tracing the lines of her face with his fingertips. Her eyes were softly closed but she was smiling. He gave a small contented sigh.

“What are you thinking about?” she murmured.

He was quiet for a moment. “You.” he whispered back. 

“Mmmmm…. Good thoughts I hope.”

“I… I think… I love you Penny.”

Her eyes fluttered open, catching his gaze. Her smiled widened slightly. “My dear Mr Morgan.” she gave a sigh “I think I might love you as well.”


End file.
